


fast food hangovers

by sassastrophe (regulardudetier)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, hangovers, mcdonalds, vague romance turns into actual romance or something????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regulardudetier/pseuds/sassastrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">"I'm not sure who decided Mac-Donalds," he says with a great amount of pronunciation, "would be the be all to end all foods of hangovers. But I will find them and do whatever it takes, don't you laugh at me Harry Styles, I will find them and do whatever it takes to learn more of the world's secrets."</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	fast food hangovers

Harry has just come back from the States after a what he'd constitute as the 'best weekend of his so far eighteen year old life excluding that time he was put together with four other lads to form what would get him to this best weekend of his life and therefor put him into his current spot of explaining this entire story to Nick over the phone' and he's already BBMing the crap out of the radio host because that's what world-famous popstars do, right? And Nick can't help but feel a little special that not even twenty-four hours after returning to the UK he's already chatting up the 28 year old for a night out. 

"I've missed you, popstar," is the first thing Nick says as he clambers into the teen's Range Rover parked meticulously behind his row of flats in hopes that maybe no one will know he's snuck out again. "I had to spend the time you were gone with my poor Z-lister friends, boo hoo."

Harry laughs and Nick won't ever be ashamed to say that he finds that gravelly voice of his dead sexy because it really is, no one should be able to resist it. "Are you glad to be back, then? No texting while driving, I don't want to die!" 

"Thanks, mum! And yes, I'm glad." He's reaching over, twisting knobs and playing with the radio now. It's a Lumineers song and before he can change it to another station, Nick is batting his hands away with a 'no not that, I actually quite like this song'. He rolls his eyes, Nick laughing, and turns his attention back to the busying street before them.

The older man directs them towards on a scenic albeit boring route to a club in downtown Soho because he'd already been planning on meeting the gang before Harry had messaged him and they park somewhere on the street because Harry doesn't feel like avoiding the paps tonight. Which is good, he guesses, because there really aren't many. The word was that the boys hadn't returned from the States (though pictures said otherwise) so maybe they'd get a load off before preparing for other things like radio tours or festivals or the like. 

Regardless, snaps are taken of Harry and Nick entering the club _together_ ('can't wait to see what crazy rumors they'll spin by morning' Harry whispers to him) and they make it to the VIP booth where a few of the others (Aimee, Rita, someone called Jen, someone else called Eran who swears it's pronounced like Erin but with an 'A', Nick has too many hipster friends for Harry to give an honest fuck) and they order a quick round of drinks. They down several rounds of those before Rita is pulling Harry up to go dance with her (they look so flawless together, Nick thinks) and Nick is ordering a glass of cheap "it's fucking classy, piss off" merlot. 

At some point in the night, the group trickles away (Eran, someone called Jem or was it Jen?, and a few others) have snuck out and left only Rita, Harry, and Nick drinking alone. "I can't tell if we're really actually respected in the States or if we're seen as some big joke," Harry begins to ramble. "The performance was brilliant, yeah, but like...why can't we be well-respected? We're all adults, right? It's like, people are judging us for living our dream. So many people came up to me and congratulated me but I couldn't tell if it was out of some malicious spite or they were genuine." 

"Harry Styles, you are the most literate drunk I've ever met," Rita laughs, sipping on a cosmo that's as pink as her lipstick and staining her white dress with it's messy drops. Nick swears he's done with the wine, though he's on what he can't remember number glass and he's properly sloshed. Harry laughs again (damn him) and gives him a small rub on the shoulders. Nick leans into it almost, eyes closed and "think it's time for me to go now" because he's not really worried about himself but Harry is swaying and he's got that look in his eyes that says something along the lines of 'I'm well fucked' which could be said for the both of them.

Nick ends up flagging down a cab for Rita and then one for he and Harry ("we'll come get your car in the morning, popstar") and Harry is falling asleep on his shoulder before they can even open the door to his apartment so Nick ends up carrying him in with one arm balancing them both. He sets the teen down on the sofa, putting on the kettle as he sobers up only slightly and smiles at the imagery.

Harry has a disheveled look about him when he's drunk. It's one that Nick still hasn't gotten quite used to whenever the boy invites himself over. His curls rest perfectly on the sides of his face, giving him a young and almost angelic look to him, and the 28 year old ( _ten year difference, Nick, remember that_ ) can't help but rake his eyes from top to bottom. Harry has pale and perfect skin, with the sort of blemishes that prove that he's just like any other eighteen year old boy who happens to also be a teen sensation. His eyes are a shade of green and blue and brown that pop with just the right amount of lighting. His nose is round and sometimes they make fun of his nostrils for being huge and the reason he just loves bananas is because he's secretly an ape. 

It takes a minute for Nick to register that he's staring at Harry's lips all the time (mostly when he thinks Harry has no idea) because they're a perfect plump shape and a perfect pink shade and when Nick gets pissed he thinks about the ways he'd like to bruise them and what kind of kisser Harry is, if he's the affectionate and gentle type or the 'right here, right now' type. He's gotten the juicy goss from one Caroline Flack but it's never enough to truly satisfy him. 

After his lips, Nick's favorite features are his hands because they're a perfect size but they're hilarious disproportionate to the rest of his body (along with his feet). But they're soft and give great back rubs and all that.

Nick isn't _too_ obsessed with Harry. He's the right amount of obsessed for a twelve year old female who's just discovered the thrills and chills of the internet and the things it holds.

"Whistle." 

It takes this one-worded comment from the sleeping figure on his couch to remind him that, yes, the kettle is whistling and probably has been for a while now. He'll be surprised if all the water hasn't evaporated. 

"What were you starin' at?" It's more of a drunken mumble, but he knows Harry is well on his feet to know what he's saying.

So Nick bites.

"You."

"Mmm. Why?"

_Of fucking course, he'll want details. Silly Grimmy._ "Deciding if I'm going to take you now or take you later, something like that."

"Later, please. I'm going to the toilet." He's up and all but running to the back bathroom, clutching his stomach and Nick knows it will be a rough night for the both of them.

"Don't ruin my towels! They're monogrammed and cost me more than your shoes."

It's a good hour of retching and sobbing and "Are you okay? Need me to hold back your hair?" before Harry finally emerges from the bathroom. Nick is on his second cup of tea, pouring a brand new one for Harry as he reaches the counter.

"Reckon I'll be in there again later, don't think I've quite knocked out the tequila yet." 

"Been there, done that. Not the best feeling in the world. Have some black, it's good for the soul."

Sure enough, one hour later and he finds the curly haired bastard leaning over the toilet and it's enough to make him feel sick to his own stomach. It's nearing four and he's not sure if the boy has died or has fallen asleep on the porcelain throne but he ambles out of bed (into his lovely pink slippers) and knocks quietly on the door. "Haz? You alive?" When a groan escapes from under the door stop, he smiles. "Think you can manage to stay alive for another hour or so? I've got an idea."

So in an hour and a half, Harry is slipping into one of Nick's tees ("Wear the Rihanna one, it's my hangover shirt") and pulling on his converse and shoving wayward curls under a green beanie before Nick is pulling him out of the flat and towards the elevator. Every once in a while, Harry holds hands to his mouth and Nick offers him words of wisdom like "puke in the corner, they don't care" but the moment never comes. Which he's thankful for. He can't take Harry being so sick and knowing it's partly his fault (partly Harry's for wanting to go out though). 

"Mcdonald's?"

"I'm not sure who decided Mac-Donalds," he says with a great amount of pronunciation, "would be the be-all-to-end-all foods of hangovers. But I will find them and do whatever it, don't you laugh at me Harry Styles, I will find them and do whatever it takes to learn more of the world's secrets." 

He orders them both the ten-piece nuggets and coffee and they sit in Nick's car as the sun is beginning to up the horizon and multiple buildings of the London limelight, laughing and in the parking lot of Mcdonald's and Nick is grinning ear to ear because he's quite happy that his popstar is back home. 

They don't touch on the subject of Nick's staring for a while; Nick's interviewed the band at iTunes festival and he's caught staring by national television, the internet, the band, everyone can tell that Nick has some weird obsession with Harry by this one interview and it ends up well he assumes because after Harry's come and gone for a short signing in Germany, they wake up entangled in each other's limbs ("You won't stop fucking staring at me, Nick. What is it that you want?" and "I promised you later, didn't I? Is this a sufficient enough later?") and yes, Nick is quite happy. 


End file.
